Sin
by ink teardrops
Summary: Because, at the end of the day, no-one really is truly a saint. /First Place in The Magic Number Competition/
1. Wrath

**A/N: Hello!I know I am crazy for starting a new story but this is my entry for a-trip-to-honeydukes' The Magic Number Competition on HPFC. I chose the Seven Deadly Sins.**

**I have to write seven chapters including a prompt. I own nothing. Chapter One is "Wrath" with the prompt "Half Decent"**

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_Wrath - Half Decent_

Wrath. Rage. Anger. Fury. Ire.

She has so many names but really she is just simply that feeling that you get and you cannot control your actions, you just see red.

She is all around us, absolutely everywhere. She diffuses through the air freely, observing the interactions between everyone and then, suddenly, she invades the bodies and minds of people and they're uncontrollable.

She's red fiery pure _wrath._

Of course, some people are more susceptible to her. They react to everything with her inside them.

Take the tall boy sat under the stormy grey sky that so reflects his mood. The boy with the bright orange hair, the lively blue eyes and the usually carefree grin who has one of the purest and kindest hearts you have seen. But, sometimes he's marred with jealousy. He's the youngest boy and he's never been the cleverest, the funniest or the best, so he thinks (but, really, he is the most heroic) and his entire life he has felt half decent. He has always been susceptible to her, throughout his childhood. He would often fly off the hook for small things like jokes going too far, being chastised by his mother, things not going exactly right and especially when he was feeling inferior. His heart has always been in the right place but sometimes, he just sees red.

But, now, everything is different. He is sat on the cold forest floor, twirling that powerful stick of wood in one hand, the other arm tied up in a sling watching every move made by the black haired, green eyed boy that is being relied on by the world and the bushy haired, brown eyed girl that is perfect in every single way.

And he's hungry. He's so hungry. He's hungry for food and he's hungry for the bushy haired girl. He thinks that's she's so beautiful, how she appears golden in the afternoon sunshine and the way her brown eyes convey every emotion she's feeling, whether they're crackling with anger or lighting up with happiness. But _he'll_ get her. _He_ gets everything.

He's wearing that… that _thing_ around his neck. That _thing_ and she's got no idea what it is, just that it sucks her in. And she cannot escape its pull. That _thing_ amplifies her beyond everything. And she's invading his mind and all he can see is red.

His wrath is unstoppable, it seems. He's angry with the green-eyed boy for his lack of direction and his lack of knowledge. He's angry with the old, white haired wizard for not leaving _any_ real instructions. He's angry with the kind faced, plump ginger haired witch for making him feel least loved. But most of all, he's angry with the pair he is scrutinising. He wants _her_ but the scarred boy is the "Chosen One". Who was he compared to the Boy-Who-Live? (No-one, he thinks to himself)

She flares up inside him and he imagines that with one twirl of the dangerous powerful piece of wood he grasps tightly in his clenched fists, the black haired boy could be writhing on the floor in agony.

"_You know the spell. Just one simple word and he'll be out of the way and you can have her. You have to mean it."_

The _thing_ whispers to him and for one dreadful moment his hand is poised, the words are on his lips but then common sense overrules the rage. Breathing heavily, he sets the piece of wood aside and slowly, she ebbs away and seeps out of him, as he calms down.

The orange haired boy (well, really he's a man now that has been forced to grow up fast) stares up at the sky and sighs. He knows that this is all for the better in the end but no-one told him that it would ever get this tough.

Wrath retreats to her fiery lair and continues dispersing through the suddenly somewhat sombre world. But she always remains close to the orange haired boy and his companions. It's that _thing_ that causes tension to run high and sucks her in to their tent. It's all getting a bit _too _much now and she knows without a doubt that one of them will crack soon. And she'll be there, causing it.

But for now, she lies dormant in the air around them waiting to engulf one of them in a haze of red unreasonableness. But, she'll be there.

Always.


	2. Lust

**A/N: Hello, dear readers. Thank you so much for the response from last chapter, it was really something. I am sorry for the delay in updates and let's just say that this chapter is brought to you after two weeks visiting various relatives across far-fetched corners of the British Isles, a nasty bout of flu, a hair-dying disaster and an incident involving a lake and a younger sibling that resulted in not being able to feel my fingers for roughly 24 hours. But, that's another story, on with this one!**

**This chapter is all about lust and Hermione Granger. This is the last Romione-centric chapter and I did enjoy writing it, after all, I do love a bit of frustrating Hermione/Ron teenage tension, with a side of Dean and Seamus friendship. I did struggle with the prompt, so I am very sorry for the very random quote in the middle, but enjoy anyway.**

**Also, I had a couple of queries about last chapter. Just for clarification, last chapter was set on the Horcrux Hunt, and Ron had the Horcrux around his neck, that's why he came across as a tad unreasonable. I wasn't trying to say that Ron was a horrible person as in fact, he is one of my favourite characters, I was just trying to portray the fact that the Horcrux really affected Ron. That's all.**

**I own nothing, and I am incredibly sorry for the epic length of this Author's Note. Enjoy!**

_Lust – Hermione Granger – When Life Gives You Lemons_

_Lust is like a cloud of perfume, a shroud of mist and a lingering scent._

Some say that of all the Seven Deadly Sins, lust is the one that they would most like to encounter. That lust is the most enjoyable and the most desired of all seven. Perhaps that's why she is so dangerous, perhaps the most dangerous of them all.

People say that she is gentle, beautiful and tender, but in reality, she's obsession and want that refuses to stop. People tend to forget that there's a difference between 'lust' and 'love'. Of course, lust has some foundation in love. She finds the person that you care for, the person you love and then, as the most controlling of all seven sins, she attacks. She controls every single one of your senses and makes that one person irresistible to you.

Of course, lust is particularly strong and virulent in teenagers – she's a crescendo of want and desire and she's intriguing and lusted herself because she's a brand new encounter to them.

There was one teenage couple in particular that harboured an extraordinary amount of lust for one another, all from the basis of so-thought unrequited love. The couple in question displayed such overwhelming displays of blatant longing that most of the school had in fact noticed it, aside from, rather ironically, one another. Much of the school whispered that they would get together and some had even placed bets on _when_ the couple would wake up and realise that they were both crazily and unavoidably in love with each other.

It was the bushy haired female with the soft brown eyes that searched for knowledge and answers and depended on logic and the words she found written on the pages of the books she so hungrily devoured. The girl had always been one for reasoning and rationality but the discovery of the reason for her smiles was so illogical to her that she struggled to make sense of it. It was him. The orange haired boy with the jokes and the cheerful smile, paired with the kind, cornflower blue eyes that had at times been the bane of her very existence but for some reason, had wormed his way into her heart. The girl had always thirsted for knowledge and lusted for answers but suddenly, all of a sudden, the thinker longed for him. The girl of logic wanted the youngest son more than anything she had ever wanted before.

The girl sat in a stuffy classroom, quill poised above her roll of parchment to diligently take notes of the ghostly professor's informative albeit rather dull lecture. She was the only one, she realised as she glanced around the stifling room. The forgetful, kind boy was snoozing on his desk, the artist's quill was flying across his parchment as he created a masterpiece as his loud Irish friend observed and commented on the stroke of the ink across the page and the girls she shared a dorm with were gossiping about some mundane, unimportant topic. The brunette girl put her head down again and scribbled down dates about Goblin Rebellions, until she saw a figure in front of her make some sort of movement.

The scratching of the quill suddenly reached a standstill and suddenly, lust was everywhere. The Muggleborn girl's eyes briefly landed on the black-haired saviour who was gazing out of the window whilst idly doodling in his margin before falling, and resting upon the lanky flame-haired boy sitting directly in front of her, arms stretched out in a yawn, his head facing towards the clock.

The brightest witch of her age observed his profile: his long nose, his striking, kind blue eyes, his fiery hair that was splayed across his forehead, his long arms that were beginning to appear quite muscular and the freckles that splattered across his pale skin. He was absolutely perfect and everything that the girl had ever wanted. Lust reached her climax and the bushy haired girl entwined her own delicate hands close together in her lap in order to resist reaching out to run her fingers through his vivid ginger hair.

The learner wanted nothing more than to grab the boy's arms and hold them tightly and count the freckles that covered them. The girl wanted nothing more than to just walk up to him and kiss him, to feel his soft lips on hers, to show him what he meant to her. The girl wanted nothing more than to tell him how she felt, to pour out her heart and tell him that she wanted him more than anything she had ever wanted before in her life. To tell him that she was in love with him.

But then, realisation hit her. Why would he _ever_ want her? The boy was funny, kind, attractive and cheerful and saw her as nothing more than a slightly annoying, sensible, plain friend. Surely, he would want someone beautiful, pretty and girly, something that the responsible Muggleborn thought she could _never_ be.

And, she realised with a start that it was only a matter of time before he found someone exactly like that. After all, he was on the Quidditch team, he was definitely becoming far more muscular than he had ever been before and he was as funny as ever. Really, he was perfect and sooner or later, someone else would realise that and then, he would be that girl's. Only the other day, in fact, the girl who befriended the boys had to listen to a late night conversation between two of her dorm-mates, two girls that frequently chatted about insignificant topics who were discussing the fact that suddenly, Ron Weasley had become _desirable_. The thought almost brought tears to the girl's eyes, the thought of someone else with him, the thought of another girl kissing him, counting his freckles and whispering sweet nothings to him late at night.

And, just like that, lust decreased. The horrible, self-loathing, _untrue_ musings of the clever girl drove away the overwhelming want for something, anything to happen. And the girl decided something. She decided to put all of the passion she feels for the boy that she thinks she can never get into her work, she decided to put all of her energy into the questions she has always answered in the hope that maybe, she'll achieve something so fabulous that the youngest boy of his family will notice and maybe, he'll realise that she is somebody. As her mother has always said, 'when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade'. Make good out of a bad situation.

And so, the girl picked up her quill again and the scratching of it against the parchment resumed. Lust retreated but, she was still there. As hard as she tried, the bushy haired helper just can't ignore the irresistible aura of the sidekick and lust remained, along with hopeless longing.

What the girl didn't notice, however, was that as she bent over her work and listened intently to the recounting of the lives of famous warlocks and witches, lust filled the boy that has always felt overshadowed by his siblings. And that very same boy was stealing glances at the avid worker with perfect bushy hair and beautiful chocolate-brown eyes trying to convince himself that she wanted someone clever, superior and richer, not someone like him. Because the boy that she wants so badly wants her as well.

And if she would only stop for a moment and pay more attention to her surroundings, she might notice that her lust for him isn't unrequited in the slightest. It's mutual.

At the back of the classroom, the lust and frisson passing between the couple has been so obvious that two boys have noticed. The Irishman and his football supporting friend have been watching the glances that the undiscovered soul mates have been laying on one another and the resisting of lust from both parties. The two best friends shared smug, knowing smiles and prayed for the day that they would both come to their senses and realise what's right in front of them: undeniable attraction.

"Bet you a Galleon that they get together before the end of this year," the artist whispered to his companion.

"You're on, mate!" the lively boy replied, shaking hands with his neighbour.

They turned back towards the couple. Lust had died down now but they were still sneaking glances at one another. And lust will remain with them because they're meant to be together. And eventually, lust will be so overpowering that something will happen. But, until that moment, she'll remain in the form of stolen glances, hopeful dreams and thoughts of what-if.

Always.


	3. Sloth

**A/N: Hello! Thank you for your excellent response to this story – 9 reviews for 2 chapters? I am absolutely delighted! Thank you all! Anyway, this is Sloth, with the prompt 'Fireflies' and the character of Peter Pettigrew. This was actually the first piece I wrote for this story, but I was really unhappy with it. But, last night, I could not sleep and so I tweaked it and I am sort of happy with the result.**

**I own nothing at all.**

_Sloth – Peter Pettigrew – Fireflies_

Sloth slumbers within every single one of us, waiting to overcome us. And, when he does, he invades our every brain cell and fills every limb with laziness. And you can do nothing to stop it. Sloth has changed the course of so many paths of our fate. Perhaps, if sloth didn't exist, the world we know today would be very different. Sloth has made fools out of powerful men and sloth has caused so many conflicts.

Of course, in some people, sloth is a bit more prominent, they are a bit more prone to be overwhelmed by that feeling of pure idleness than others.

Sloth is familiar with one boy in particular. The young man with the watery blue eyes and the mousey straw coloured hair who had a rather rat-like appearance. He looks a bit pathetic from the outside, a bit of a pushover and like a man who can do no harm. But appearances can be deceiving.

He had always been considered inferior to all of his friends but now, he was about to prove them all wrong. He was about to show them how powerful their small, weak, overlooked friend was. Or so he thought.

He was sat on a hill in the middle of no-where, night was approaching and fireflies were lazily floating around his head. In the distance, he could see the small cluster of lights that was Godric's Hollow. The boy had been overcome by lethargy and sloth was slowly settling comfortably in his every cell.

The fireflies brought back memories of his Hogwarts days. Of the nights when they would all sneak out under the black haired boy's cloak and sit in the grounds planning their next great act as Marauders as the fireflies hovered around the Forbidden Forest. Of course, then, he was the weakest (the messy haired boy was the sportsman, the handsome aristocratic boy was the ladies' man and the boy who fears the moon was the cleverest and the one that everyone liked for who he was). But that was then.

And this was now. One part of his brain felt happy because _he_ was going to show everyone else what he was made of. But, the other half of him felt nothing but hatred and disappointment in himself. And a persistent voice was echoing round and round his head.

_You could have changed the world for the better, Peter Pettigrew. You could have made it a safer place for everyone. You could have let a little boy grow up with his parents. You could have changed the world, Peter Pettigrew, but you were just too lazy._

And the boy knew that it was true. He could have fought for the Order of the Phoenix, fought on the front line and done the right thing. But it was also the hard thing.

Sloth overcame him. Sloth infested every brain cell and twisted every thought. He could join the other side and he would have power, glory and so much more without having to fight as hard. If he joined the other side, he would get what he wanted without having to fight for it. It had seemed like the perfect choice, with sloth infesting his every brain cell.

And so, the boy who was also a rat had done it. He had received the black mark that forever tattooed his forearm and that showed to everyone that he was one of the elite, one of the powerful. He had rejoiced in his new found power and glory and the fact that he didn't have to do anything.

But then the evil, power hungry dictator had ordered the always overlooked young man to become a spy. He had ordered him to pass information from the other side. And it transpired, in the end, that the double agent suddenly had _more_ work to do. But, if he had just ignored the feeling of pure laziness that had engulfed his every cell then he could have been the better person, the stronger man, for once. But it was all too late for that. He was the betrayer now and there was nothing he could do about it.

And so, the boy who led two lives stared up towards the black, black sky and then looked toward the peaceful, sleeping village before him. He imagined the black haired prince with his red-head princess at the moment. They would probably be putting their one year old son in his cot and then, curling up together on the sofa, talking about meaningless subjects, completely unaware that it was their last night on Earth.

The boy who had caused his best friend's death knew that he could go and do something about it. He could change the course of the future, he could go and warn somebody, anybody and tell them to move the family, he could _not tell_ his superior of their location. But then he would have to face the consequences of his stupid, stupid actions.

Sloth reached its crescendo and the rat-like boy realised what he had known all along, really. He couldn't, he wouldn't do anything. There was too much at risk.

The boy flopped back on the hill and stared up at the inky-blue heavens. Tears stung his eyes and the fireflies continued to float, completely unaware of the happenings of the world, around his head. And still the voice continued to echo.

_You could have changed the world for the better, Peter Pettigrew, but you were just too lazy._

The traitor sighed. Sloth continued raging on within his body and a feeling of guilt slowly seeped into his brain. Tomorrow he would show them who he _really_ was. But that still didn't dispel the guilt that was coursing through his every thought. And, deep down inside, the boy knew. The boy knew that there it would remain.

Always.


	4. Envy

**A/N: I own nothing. Contains mild references of bulimia and anorexia.**

_Envy – Pansy Parkinson – House Elf_

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She's the green-eyed monster on your back, she's the feeling that you just can't seem to escape and she is that feeling of pure, inescapable jealousy.

She's envy and she's unforgiving and, really, she is familiar to _every single one of us, _because, no matter how much we deny it, we have all experienced her in one way or another. Because, although we may never, ever admit it, there is always one person that is richer, prettier, thinner, cleverer, more popular or even just _luckier_ than you could ever be. And, that, my friends, is envy.

She invades your mind and every fibre of your being, warping your vision until every single one of your flaws are unavoidable compared to their utter perfection. Well, perfection in your eyes anyway. And envy is painful. Envy can tear anyone apart shred by shred, until they are reduced to nothing but a shell of a person, filled with self-loathing. And, for this reason, envy is dangerous. Envy is destructive. Envy is vicious.

And, for the pug-faced Slytherin girl that was Pansy Parkinson, envy is cruel. Because, the hard-faced girl was never going to be the prettiest, the thinnest, the cleverest, the richest or the most desired, she knew that but, it just so happened that there was a girl who was everything that Pansy could never be and everything that she wanted to be.

And, it just so happened that the girl that Pansy envied beyond everyone shared a dorm with her, was a constant part of her life and, worst of all, was close to Draco. And it just so happened that this girl's name was Daphne Greengrass.

And Daphne Greengrass was the sort of girl that had every single boy wrapped around her little finger and could have them waiting on her like house elves at the drop of the hat. Because Daphne Greengrass was beautiful and that seemed to make boys absolutely adore her.

And, envy changed Pansy Parkinson beyond recognition. It all began with a game, an attempt to win back a certain boy, but it developed into so much more. It became an obsession, almost a disease. It became starving herself, making herself be sick and, to be frank, it became obsession. And, it all started with one friendly conversation, envy and the rest is history.

Pansy was sat, lounging on one of the emerald green sofas that dotted her common room, next to Millicent Bulstrode, discussing tactics of trying to engage Draco in conversation, when the door slid open and Daphne herself entered the common room.

Pansy glanced up at her and as always, the dull feel of envy set in her stomach. Daphne Greengrass with her long, blonde curling hair, large sapphire (hypnotist) eyes and a sweet, enchanting (poison) smile. The girl who had everything entered the Slytherin common room and, as usual, without even trying, every single boy in the room looked up at her standing in the doorway, with her fabulous figure that every desired girl seemed to have, with diamonds sparkling on her neck like the wealthy heir that she was, with her hair and face looking absolutely perfect as usual.

Daphne surveyed the room, as though she was a queen and that the assembled Slytherins were just her loyal subjects, waiting to admire her and do her bidding, before walking straight into the common room.

"Hey Daphne!"

"Hi, Daph, you alright?"

"Hello, Greengrass,"

The calls echoed around the room and Daphne smiled beautifully at them, before dismissing their questions with a wave of her hand and a flick of her hair. Pansy's eyes followed her around the room, staring with pure jealousy at the way that every single boy's gaze was fixed upon her beautiful figure gracefully walking around the room, before coming to a stop and sitting down on a sofa next to Draco Malfoy.

Soon enough, the sound of her clear voice drifted across the room and everyone returned to their homework, books, conversations, chess boards or whatever activity they had been doing before Daphne entered. Pansy sat back fuming. Millicent and she had spent the last half an hour plotting ways to converse with Draco and Daphne had just walked right up to him and started chatting. And, what was worse, _he had talked back_.

He was obviously interested in her, or else he would've told her to go away or made non-committal monosyllabic answers until she had got the message and left. But, no. In fact, quite the opposite, he was leaning forward and talking avidly to her with an interested look in his eyes that was never there when he spoke to Pansy.

_What if Draco likes her? What if Draco wants her? And after all, why wouldn't he? She's beautiful, rich, clever, skinny, popular. She's everything. And you, Pansy Parkinson, you're nothing. He'll never want you._

A small, mocking voice echoed around Pansy's head and suddenly, a wave of despair hit her because, perhaps, that voice was _right_. She would never be anything, she was nothing compared to Daphne Greengrass. Pansy stared across at Daphne, who was laughing, tossing her lustrous hair back from her face, with her long lean legs crossed over in front of her. Draco look entranced.

Pansy looked down at her pudgy legs, her flabby stomach, her plain mousey hair that didn't cascade down her back, it just… fell and her slightly less impressive family heirlooms. She was kidding herself, she could never _ever_ be wanted by Draco Malfoy but Daphne Greengrass certainly could. Daphne Greengrass was everything, everything that Draco wanted but Pansy, she was nothing. And that was all she ever would be.

And so, with the green-eyed monster fixed firmly to her back, it began. Daphne couldn't get Draco. She wouldn't. Pansy would have to be better than Daphne. She would have to outshine the Slytherin princess to claim her prince.

_What if Draco likes her? What if Draco wants her? And after all, why wouldn't he? She's beautiful, rich, clever, skinny, popular. She's everything. And you, Pansy Parkinson, you're nothing. He'll never want you._

And the voice that had driven her to this echoed around her head whenever her throat stung from throwing up her evening meal, or her head pounded from staying up all night studying. It wasn't a nice thought nor was it particularly happy, but it kept her going and reminded her of her goal.

And Pansy became obsessed with Daphne Greengrass, scrutinising her every move, trying desperately to claw back Draco from her. But, envy got in her way and, just as she does so often, envy distorted and warped her vision. Because, Pansy got it wrong. Because, Draco fell for a Greengrass eventually, but, it wasn't Daphne, it was Astoria, the youngest daughter. Perhaps, if Pansy hadn't become so preoccupied with her jealousy for Daphne, then she would've noticed that their relationship was purely platonic and that it should've been the brunette, lively younger sister that Pansy had been keeping a closer eye on.

But, until Pansy realises her mistake and, until Pansy gets over Draco, envy will remain with her.

Always.


	5. Gluttony

_Gluttony – Regulus Black – The Calm Before the Storm_

Gluttony is the most mistaken of all seven sins. Yes, gluttony of food is known, but, no-one really seems to realise that gluttony can refer to all sorts of excess. Of greed.

And, gluttony can cause so much more. What can start out as a slight over-indulgence can turn into so much more. It can cause death, hatred and conflict.

Take the small boy, the youngest Black son, who stands on the edge of a cave, about to walk to his death, standing on a rock which is eerily quiet, the calm before the storm. He is stood by the entrance of a cave, contemplating his life.

Sirius was the firecracker, the Gryffindor lion and the firework that made the perfectly constructed house of cards that was the Black family come tumbling down to the ground. He was the black sheep of the family and _everyone_ seemed to notice him. But, Regulus was never the same. He was the snake, the typical Slytherin who obeyed his parent's every order and was the perfect Pureblood son. Sirius was the handsome, desired, popular, sporty Beater but Regulus was just another Black, a small and sly Seeker, constantly hiding in the shadow of his rebellious older brother and his fellow Slytherin cousins, Bellatrix the twisted, Narcissa the beautiful and Andromeda the wise.

Of course, he was the perfect son and he was talked about, admired by the entire Black family. At parties and other social events, he was always brought out, as though he were an ornament, showed off and admired by the other guests, Walburga and Orion accepting compliments about their prodigal son with a superior smile and a nod. And, of course, it wasn't as though he was _ignored_, it was just that Sirius was the Black son that everyone seemed to remember, unlike goodie-two-shoes Reggie, who followed his parents blindly.

And, so, he decided to take action. He decided that enough was enough and that soon enough, he would be the son that everyone remembered and that, next to him, Sirius would become merely the forgotten Black brother that rebelled and then became just another scorch mark on the family tapestry. He decided to join the Death Eaters, because, as he told his parents, it was where he would grow to be one of the highest ranking members and one day, rule the Wizarding World. (But, really, it was because he was an easily led boy and Bellatrix's whispered sentences about how he would show the world that Sirius wasn't the only Black brother worth remembering seemed far too tempting to resist.)

Amongst the Death Eaters, he took everything that they offered him. Every single mission that he was offered he took and he learnt that, maybe for once, he actually fitted in. Those qualities that he had previously hated, the qualities that he was sure made him into the weaker Black brother were valued and useful amongst the Death Eater ranks: his ability to shrink into the shadows and the fact that he was quite unnoticed. And, so, just as he had wanted, Regulus rose through the ranks and, eventually, some even say, that he was one of Tom Riddles closest, most trusted servants.

But, quite often, not everything in life comes free to us and Regulus paid a price. Regulus, so eager to work his way up the ranks and so eager to _outshine_ Sirius, took on far too much. Regulus Black was gluttonous. He bit off more than he could chew, as the slyest of all sins invaded his body and slowly, he began to resent it.

And, now, as a direct result of his foolishness, of his gluttonous behaviour, he stands on the edge of a cave, about to bring down the darkest wizard of all time, knowing full well that he may reach his end within the next few minutes.

And, as he stands, staring out across the crashing waves, he feels a sense of regret. Regret that he never did send that letter to Sirius, which now lies as ashes scattered across the yard of Grimmauld Place. Regret that he _ever_ got involved with the Death Eaters. And, he can't help it, but regret that he never truly outshone Sirius, regret that he was going to die a coward's death.

He could imagine, easily, Sirius dying a hero's death. Regulus could imagine him fighting for the right side and then in slow motion, the curse would come out of no-where and hit him squarely in the chest and he would fall back and hit the ground and he would be forever remembered as a hero – the boy who died fighting for a better world.

And, no matter how hard he had tried, Regulus could _never_ achieve that. He would always be the snake, the boy that hid behind his surname and the boy who drowned himself in the shadows of the shady Death Eater meetings all because of his own gluttony.

And, Regulus stands in the entrance of the cave, realising that he will always be remembered as the boy that shrunk into the shadows and will never be anything compared to his older brother.

So, Regulus enters the cave and, although his death is only just around the corner, he knows that it is entirely his fault. And he knows that it is all his fault, all because he was a stupid boy that listened to the murmurings of his insane cousin and was desperate to prove himself. And, because of this, he knows that the feeling of gluttony will remain with him, the feeling that he is to blame for his own death.

Always.


	6. Pride

**A/N: Pride, Percy Weasley.**

**This chapter is for a Guest reviewer who requested a bit of Ginny Weasley. And so, here you have her! I own nothing! :)**

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_Pride – Percy Weasley – Only the Best_

Many say that pride is the most forgivable sin, that it is the sin that they would most like to encounter because, after all, they say that you can only be proud if you have something to be proud of. They say that pride affects only the best. But, really, pride can infest anyone and she is far from forgivable. She's needy, desperate, heart-wrenching and she lurks within you always, waiting to flare up at any moment.

And, then she whispers tantalising thoughts in your ears and you can do nothing to stop her. Quite often, it is the people who regret the most who are overcome by her and once she does, she is near impossible to get rid of.

And, for the boy who left his family and regrets it wholly, she is exactly what he doesn't need.

He walked across the concrete pavement, his footsteps perfectly in time and his back straight. His impeccable black travelling coat billowed out behind him, his horn rimmed glasses were balanced neatly on his nose and his head had not a hair out of place. His red hair glints in the sunshine, the only true indication of who he truly is.

He walked purposefully towards his destination and he looked straight ahead, completely undistracted by the happenings on the Muggle street around him, mind focused only upon reaching his destination and what he would find awaiting him when he reached the Ministry. He was so absorbed in keeping up his regular strides that he didn't notice the slightly smaller, older figure with matching hair standing on the corner of the street, observing the footsteps of his runaway son. He didn't notice until it wass too late to change paths, or to make a detour in an attempt to avoid him.

"Percy," the man greeted him, a small smile on his face and a hopeful expression obvious in his eyes, "please come back. Percy, we miss you, please, Percy,"

And, as the boy stared into the face of his father, the feelings that he thought he had finally escape hit him once more.

The face of his father, so familiar to him, a face that frequented his childhood memories dredged up so many emotions and memories that the boy could do nothing to stop them.

The feelings of inferiority he always got whenever his family was gathered. The feeling of not belonging. The feeling that he was nothing compared to his siblings.

Because, after all, growing up in a house with seven siblings was always going to be hard but, when your brothers and sisters all seem to shine it makes it just a tad harder. And that was what his life had been made of.

Bill was the eldest, the cleverest, Head Boy, handsome and a fantastic Quidditch player to boot. He worked in Gringotts, earning a fair bit of gold and was independent and desired by many, many people. He was the first born child, so he would always hold some special place in his parent's heart.

Charlie was the Quidditch playing genius who really could have played for England and still managed to get semi-decent marks. He was fearless and a dragon-hunter and, really, a Gryffindor through and through.

Fred and George were a whole other matter. They were popular, hilarious and well-liked. And they were clever. Not academically as such, but they truly were genius pranksters and inventors. And, even though his parents would get exasperated with their constant jokes, it was blindingly clear that no matter what, they were absolutely adored.

Ron was the youngest boy and he always felt just a tiny bit overshadowed but, Percy could never figure out why. Ron was a chess-genius, well-liked and was best friends with the _Harry Potter_. And, perhaps, Ron was the most Gryffindor of the lot of them, even more than fearless dragon chasing Charlie because Ron was courageous and so much more than he believed.

And then, Ginny. Ginny, the daughter that his mother had always longed for, the baby of the family who would always be remembered as the only female Weasley in a fair few generations. Ginny, who was unforgettable, the girl with the red hair and the hexes, the resilient girl who was popular, wanted and adored by her parents.

And then, him. Percy who did become a Prefect and then Head Boy, but Bill had already done that. He did get top grades, but Bill had as well. He did get a job at the Ministry, but Bill already had an amazing job in Gringotts and Charlie, one in Romania. And, unlike the rest of his family, he wasn't any good at Quidditch (nor did he enjoy playing or watching it), he found the twin's jokes less than amusing and he really did prefer peace and quiet to the loud noises his family seemed to revel in. He was always going to be slightly different, never the eldest like Bill, the Quidditch player like Charlie, hilarious like the twins, brave like Ron or feisty like Ginny. He had always felt a little bit behind his family, always slightly different to them and he never felt as though he fitted in.

And then, when Harry Potter came back from the graveyard, clutching the body of Cedric Diggory and telling stupid lies about how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, his parents had spent every waking moment fretting over Harry and the fabricated tale that he had planted in their mind. His parents had seemed to pay more attention to Harry, just a friend of Ron than to him, their own son. And, he realised that maybe Harry was trying to take his place because Harry seemed to be everything a Weasley should be, unlike Percy who sometimes felt as though he was a stranger, living in a family's house.

And, slowly he began to resent his family, resent the surname they gave him and resent the fact that he was nobody, nobody to them. And, so, he left.

But, now, his father was standing in front of him, asking him to return to his family and Percy wanted to, he did. He hated to admit it but, he missed his brothers and sisters, he missed his parents, he missed the Burrow, his mother's cooking and the twin's jokes. He hated himself for what he had said to his father and he wanted to return so very much.

And, now, his father was stood in front of him, asking him to come home and it would be so easy to agree. In just a few words, he could be on his way home.

But, pride, the sin that lurked within him flared up and whispered heartbreakingly true thoughts in his ear.

_Go back if you want, Percy Weasley, but remember that if you do you'll have to admit you were wrong. You'll have to tell them that you regret what you said. And, Percy Weasley, do you really _want_ to do that?_

And Percy realised with a start that he couldn't. He couldn't tell them that how bad he felt. Because, that would mean admitting he was wrong, and Percy Weasley was far too proud to do that.

"I have to get to work," he replied stiffly, walking away swiftly, hating himself for causing the hurt expression that crossed his father's kind face.

He walked across the concrete pavement, his footsteps perfectly in time and his back straight. His impeccable black travelling coat billowed out behind him, his horn rimmed glasses were balanced neatly on his nose and his head had not a hair out of place. His red hair glinted in the sunshine, the only true indication of who he truly was.

But, although he kept up his perfectly calm exterior, inwardly he was cursing himself for being so stupid, so hurtful, so proud and, he decided that one day, he would try and make it up to his family.

But, until then, pride will remain with him, trying to change his course of action, trying to throw him off balance. Pride will whisper truths in his ear and will linger in his thoughts.

Always.


	7. Greed

**A/N: We have reached the final chapter of Sin. I have enjoyed every moment of it and I hope that you have to. I am incredibly happy, because this is my first completed multi-chap. And, so, one final time, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of you have reviewed/favourited/alerted this. Thank you.**

**And, for one final time, I own nothing.**

_Greed – Lord Voldemort – Building a Better Tomorrow_

Some say that perhaps greed is the plainest of all seven sins, the most simple. And perhaps, they are right because greed is simply the overwhelming urge to take more and more, no matter how much you already have.

But, what many people don't quite seem to grasp is that greed is not simple, nor is it plain. Greed has been the downfall of many men and greed has ruined far more people that you would at first imagine.

And, one man in particular had been destroyed by greed, not that he knew it yet. Greed had caused so many of his problems and greed had made sure that whoever wanted to destroy him had an easy job. And, he had only just begun to realise it.

He walked along the winding village path, surrounded by shadows and immersed in darkness. His black cloak billowed out behind him and his hood shielded his face from view. A rustling came from the undergrowth nearby and a black cat slunk out of the bushes into the shadows. With one flick of the man's wand, a jet of green light illuminated the small lane and a soft _thump_ sounded as the cat's lifeless body hit the road.

The man tucked his wand back into the pocket of his robe and continued walking with long, silent strides, in a hurry to reach his destination.

Soon enough, he had reached a rusty gate which was hanging off its hinges, which lay in front of a falling down, broken house that was in need of some attention and repair work. With another silent flick of his wand, the gate swung open, emitting a creak that echoed through the silent night.

The man walked up the cracked path, his eyes focused on his destination and a tumult of thoughts echoing across his mind. He entered the house, the rotting wooden door swinging open with another silent spell and soon, he was walking through the ramshackle house, which had a coating of dust so thick, his footsteps were muffled.

He reached the point that he had set out to find and stood, fearing what he may find. Within a few seconds, the floorboards had been pulled apart.

He clutched his wand slightly tighter and peered down into the gaping hole beneath the floorboards. And, there lying amongst cobwebs and darkness, lay a small golden box which was empty.

Empty.

The boy had discovered his secret. The boy had destroyed the ring, the diary, stolen the cup and perhaps even more. He was ruined.

He had been so clever and the boy and his mentor had outwitted him. He had become the greatest wizard of all time, performed magic that even the best wizards hadn't even dreamt of and he had made sure his life was preserved so that he could live forever. He had never even _considered_ that someone would discover his secret, let alone find (and possibly destroy) them.

He had taken so much, and perhaps, in this, he had become careless. Perhaps, in the sake of greed, all because he was building a better tomorrow, he had effectively led the boy to discover his secrets. Perhaps, it was because of his own greed that he was faced with the situation he was in now.

No, that wasn't it, he thought, that was impossible. It must have been pure luck, pure chance that the boy had done what he had done. No one could ever outwit Lord Voldemort after all.

But, whether it was chance, luck, cleverness or whatever it was that the boy possessed, it didn't really matter. Because, still, the boy had found the ring and had discovered his secret. And that was all that mattered.

And now, as he stood in the house of his ancestors, the boy's master lay in his great white marble tomb and the boy himself could be anywhere, scouring the country for more of his hidden objects.

The boy couldn't. He wouldn't.

He would visit the cave next. The securest of all his hiding places, no-one would every dream of linking him back to dusty orphanage he had inhabited when he was a small child, brimming with hatred and able to do things that he couldn't quite explain. The boy _surely_ couldn't penetrate the obstacles he had set out for him.

He snarled in rage.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he said to himself, his cold, high voice echoing through the barren room, reminding himself that he wasn't Tom Riddle anymore. He was powerful and nobody, not even the Boy Who Lived could defeat him.

"I am Lord Voldemort!" his voice echoed, louder than before. He was powerful, unbeatable and unstoppable. No-one could change that. No-one. He would go and see the locket and he would make sure that he would never, ever be defeated.

With one final glance at the Gaunt shack that his mother had resided in, he walked out of the ramshackle house, down the cracked path and through the rusty gate.

Turning once on the spot, a large crack sounded through the darkness.

The gate creaked close and once more, the winding country lane was bathed in silence.

The man had disappeared, gone to make sure he was still undefeated because of his own greed.

And, although within a few hours, he would finally meet his downfall, until then, the greed that had caused his slow defeat would remain with him, causing death after death, and mistake after mistake.

Always.


End file.
